


Nothing Biblical Here

by ienablu



Series: Nothing Biblical [1]
Category: Daredevil (2003), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Legal Drama, Post-Avengers (2012), Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Natasha takes herself off active duty until Clint is taken off probation. Not being on active-duty doesn't prevent Natasha from patrolling, and saving Daredevil's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Biblical Here

**Author's Note:**

> Secondary characters: Felix Blake, Wilson Fisk, a handful of comic mooks, and a few SHIELD agent OCs to fill in gaps.  
> Secondary relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff & Pepper Potts, comics-canon-level Bobbi Morse/Clint Barton, background Maria Hill/OFC
> 
> Started three years ago, finished – a few days late – for the Romanoff Big Bang. The master post here. Thanks to the mod for so smoothly running the fest. Thanks and extreme flailing to my artists Ses, for the art (link to be added), and Emma, for the [graphic](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com/post/133372260866/nothing-biblical-here-colours-i-dont) and [fanmix](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com/post/133372501306/nothing-biblical-here-a-fanmix-for-the-natasha). Thanks to playpraydie for the hand-holding, head-patting, and beta.
> 
> As I said, I started this fic three years (and three days) ago. While I can't exactly argue a lot of the criticisms for the 2003 Daredevil movie, I still have such a terrible fondness for it. Terrible being the keyword. Extended notes can be found [here](http://hayes-district.dreamwidth.org/6332.html).

Three days after the Battle of New York, Natasha walks into the Green Room, and the only difference is that instead of the facility being only slightly over capacity, the number of agents hurrying around makes the facility very much over capacity. The receptionist at the front desk – a young, pretty communications agents, undoubtedly juggling at least a dozen tasks at once – signs a ‘b’ at her, and Natasha makes her way up to Blake’s office on the fourth floor.

"You're heading out to London," he tells her, as she walks into his office. "Your flight leaves JFK International tomorrow afternoon. Agent Walters will brief you when you land."

Blake is careful with his words, and always makes to sure to include an ‘and Barton’ when overviewing their missions. The omission in this instance doesn't escape her notice.

"Level?" she asks, instead.

"Six."

She nods, and makes her way to towards Hill's office.

On her way there, she dials up a local pizza place, asks for the owner. When Ray is on the line, Natasha takes on a lighter tone to say, "Hello, this is Natalie Rushman, I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant.”

“Ah, Ms. Rushman. Glad to hear you got through this past week alright.“

“Glad to hear the store survived as well.”

There’s a laugh on the other end. “You’re not the first person to say that. What can I get for you?”

“I'd like to put in an order for delivery," she says, as she enters Hill’s temporary office. The desk is too cluttered for Natasha to find a place to sit, and so she just leans back against the edge of the desk.

"Say no more. What can I get Mr. Stark?"

"It’s not for Mr. Stark, but an associate of his.”

“My shop is safe because of Mr. Stark, any associate of his eats free. What can I get started?”

"A large pepperoni with mushrooms and extra olives." Hill enters her office as Natasha rattles off the address of her Manhattan apartment. It’s another few seconds to wrap up the conversation, and then Natasha pushes herself off the desk to obverse Hill. "How long is Barton going to be on probation?" she asks.

"Until he's cleared his psychological evaluations.”

Natasha resists the urge to roll her eyes. “You don’t seriously think that he’s still brainwashed, do you?”

Hill won’t meet her gaze. “It doesn’t matter what I think. All that matters is that Barton was compromised by an alien and an alien artifact, and we have no way of knowing what repercussions there may be.”

Natasha just stares at her. "If you really think Barton's compromised, do you want me halfway across the globe, or do you want me here to take him down?"

Hill looks up at that, sizing Natasha up. "Get me a replacement by tomorrow morning, and a request to be taken off active-duty, and I’ll sign off on it.”

“Deal. Coffee?”

“Only if you’re paying. Though you should know, SHIELD’s stretched a bit thin. Only reason we were sending you out was to get you away from New York was so we could make sure your identity wasn’t compromised.”

“It’s not going to be,” Natasha says. She’s not as certain of the fact as she wishes she was, but she’s still fairly certain. Keeping herself from being observed by others during missions is second-nature.

Hill nods, and adds, "Keep an eye out for Barton.”

 

-

 

"Thanks for the pizza," Clint says, as she enters her apartment.

"I thought you might like it. You planning to save any of it for me?"

"Planning on it, we’ll see how it goes. How did you know I'd be here?"

Natasha gives him a shrug, as she toes off her shoes. Because she knows him. Because she knows he would not want to go to a place he might consider home. Because she knows he would not want to spend his probation alone by himself anymore than he felt he already was.

His expression goes dark as he zeroes in on the folders under Natasha's arm. "You shipping out?"

She shakes her head. "I'm off-duty."

Clint just flicks his gaze back down to the folders, before raising an eyebrow.

"But Hill may have asked me to look over some files."

He tilts his head to the side. "Personnel files?" he asks, the faintest level of uncertainty in his voice.

"Looking for someone to ship out in my stead.”

“Where to?”

“They said London, but if Walters is involved, I’d probably have been relocated to Amsterdam.”

“But you love boterkoek.”

“I’m taking the next week off, I can learn to make them on my own.” She settles down on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

“You know, Bobbi’s done pretty well on oversea ops.”

“It’s Level Six. She’s Level Five.”

“She’s due for a promotion.”

“Don’t think that’s how promotions work.”

“If anyone could make it happen...”

Natasha hums, and pulls out Morse’s file from the middle of the stack. "Anything interesting on?" she asks, nodding towards the muted TV.

"A lot of sitcoms," he tells her, turning the volume back on. "And re-runs of police procedurals. I haven't bothered checking the news."

She hums in reply. Everything is about the Avengers, right now. She understands. Still, "There's no chance that they would have caught you on film." Or that they would have caught her on film. If their covers were blown, they would know by now.

"They seem most interested in Senator Boyden calling for some amount of accountability," Clint says, expression shuttering closed.

Canned sitcom laughter fills the air.

She really thinks he probably wants to drop the subject, but Natasha finds herself saying, "If they thought you were still compromised, you wouldn't still be an agent of SHIELD."

"Does that mean that they would have fired me, or just shot me?" he asks, tone biting, his gaze not leaving the television.

"It means you wouldn't be on probation.”

"You're really not making me feel any better," he tells her.

She can tell that she is making him feel a bit better, but if he wants to be petulant and pretend, she'll let him. She just smirks to herself, and continues reading Morse’s file.

 

-

 

By nightfall, Clint's petulance – and subsequent denial of such, insisting that he's fine, instead of owning the frustration of being doubted by the agency he dedicated so much to – has started to wear on Natasha.

"I'm heading out for a bit," she says, zipping up her boots.

"For what? You've got a mission?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Just don't feel like changing," she tells him. Sometimes the black jumpsuit draws attention, but a black leather jacket makes the jumpsuit aspect less obvious.

"Okay. Have fun out there.”

"You want to come with?" Natasha asks.

"Nah," he replies, flipping through the channels again.

“You need any groceries? Because I knew a few places in the area.”

Clint flips her off.

Natasha laughs, and starts off for a walk.

The city is shifting – the Battle of New York is still fresh and raw and forefront in everybody's mind. Construction companies have their schedules packed, real estate agents are scrambling, and insurance companies are having their every decision closely-watched. The city is reeling, and Natasha can feel it. There is a part of her that wants to leave – regimes fall every day but Natasha is not usually around to watch the pieces picked up – but part of her wants to see it through. Find a small way to help out.

As she walks, Natasha is only distantly aware of where she’s going. North and west, mostly, this building with a chunk taken out of the side, that building missing a corner.

A few blocks further, she hears the faint sounds of a disturbance. The words are too indistinct at this distance, but the distress is obvious.

Natasha picks up her pace, easily making her way to the source of the noise. She turns down an alleyway, and in the white light of the night’s full moon, she sees two figures, one menacing the other. "Evening," she greets, strolling down the alley.

The menacing figure jumps back, and hurries down the rest of the alley.

Natasha jogs down to where there's a girl propped against the wall. "Are you okay?" she asks.

The girl has tears in her eyes, and looks wild and frantic, but otherwise seems unharmed. She nods, her breathing coming fast and shallow. "Yeah," she say, voice shaking. "I just– I don't have a lot of money, most of what I had... he had a knife–”

“Did he hurt you?” Natasha asks, looking her over closer.

She shakes her head.

"Good. Think you can get home safely?"

The girl nods her head. "Yeah. I don't live that far away."

"Do you still have your phone on you, or did he take it?"

“I still have it.”

"Good. Call the police, have them give you a ride home. Wait under the streetlight on the other side of the street until they arrive, got it?"

The girl nods, her breathing starting to even out. “What about you?”

"I'm going to go get your wallet back," Natasha tells her.

And then Natasha’s striding down the remainder of the alley.

It's not much of a chase. Despite the head-start, it’s easy to anticipate the mugger’s route and catch up with and cut off. She gives him a thin smile as he stumbles in an attempt not to collide with her. "You can either give me the wallet and turn yourself in to the police, or I can kick your ass and drag you to the police.”

The mugger hands over the wallet. He’s no mastermind, just a common civilian who got hit hard by renovation fees and harder by insurance claim denials.

She checks the address – the girl lives in Hell's Kitchen, near the docks, just a few blocks from here. Natasha tucks the wallet into her jacket pocket, and starts making her way towards the listed address.

She's walking down a sidewalk when she hears the same noises as earlier – struggling, only this isn’t another mugging. This is louder, angrier. There's the dull thud of fists hitting flesh. Cries of pain, and continued arguing. It’s high above her, and she looks up, trying to pinpoint the location of the fight.

It becomes all too evident, though, when she sees a body pushed off the adjacent building. In the slow, silent moment of the figure’s descent, Natasha watches, faintly recognizing dark red jumpsuit. The figure hits the water, back first, with a loud splash that jars Natasha back to the present. She takes a few steps back, throws her jacket off, then sprints to the dock, leaps off the edge, and swan dives into the water. 

The water is bitingly cold, even in May. In the dark and muggy water of the Hudson, it’s hard to see, but she can do the calculations of where he would be, and she makes her way closer, until she can make out a figure.

The figure is thrashing wildly. 

She swims in, and wraps an arm around his neck, settling her elbow at his throat and pressing firm – keeping him from inhaling any more water, and keeping him breathless enough where he doesn’t try and fight her. It’s not a new experience, pulling a body out of the water, but it’s never a fun one.

Long seconds pass until they surface, and time continues excruciatingly slow as Natasha paddles them back to the dock. It’s a clumsy, awkward affair to get them back onto ground, and Natasha takes a moment to recover, before she gives him a good few whacks on the back.

Daredevil pushes himself onto his hands and knees, and coughs up a few mouthfuls of water.

"Sorry about the chokehold," she tells him, still breathing hard.

He stays supported for a few moments, before he collapses. The water from his mouth is red-tinted. Not good.

“We should probably get you home,” Natasha says. She hurries to get her jacket, pulling it back on, and shivering as it presses the cold suit material closer into her skin. “Where do you live?” She can guess it’s nearby, but doesn’t know which direction to head.

He doesn’t reply. 

Judging by his breathing, he’s still conscious, so Natasha continues, “Listen, I can either search every block until you bleed out, I can take you to a hospital–”

“No hospitals.”

“–or you can tell me where you live.”

“Go… go north down this block, and take a right.”

He gives her directions block by block, voice growing weaker each time. Natasha turns them into an alley that dead-ends against another building, and he’s barely audible when he says, “Leave me here.”

Natasha stares at the wall, stares at him, and then cranes her neck to look up. “I’m guessing you live somewhere with roof-top access?”

He doesn’t reply.

His breathing is too shallow.

Natasha shifts so that Daredevil is slung across her back, his arms around her neck. “Hold on.” He manages to weakly keep his grip, so Natasha’s hands are free as she pulls them both up the fire escape, up to the roof.

There’s a door that leads down to a top-floor apartment, and a security panel to its side. She opens the security panel, and stares at the three combination locks. "What're the combinations?" she asks.

"I don't know," Daredevil replies, wheezing. “Only one number each.”

Natasha sighs, and lowers Daredevil to the ground, then presses her ear to the space next to the locks, waiting for the right _click_. She manages to get the right number for each on her first rotation. The door clicks open, and she pulls back, admittedly smug.

"Leave me," he tells her. "I can..."

"No, you can't," she tells him, reaching down to help him to his feet. The door opens, and she gropes to the wall to the side of the door."Where’s the light switch?"

"No... lights..." he tells her.

Well, that's helpful. She pulls him into the apartment, and kicks the door shut after them. Steps down, a hallway with a half-kitchen to the right, a wall with a pair of boxing gloves on the left. At the end of the hall, there’s a living area to the left, complete with bay windows and a couch. She drops him down onto said couch, and then repositions it so the moonlight falls down on Daredevil.

"Medical supplies?" she asks. When he doesn't reply, she taps him on the cheek, softly, then harder. "Med-kit, where is it? Kitchen, bathroom, other?"

He still doesn't reply.

Natasha presses two fingers to his pulse. It’s weak and erratic. Her window – his window, really – is slowly closing, and she gets up and makes her way to the bathroom. She grabs the med kit off a cabinet, dampens a hand towel, and hurries back to the living room. Careful not to block the light, she kneels in front of the couch. His uniform is made up of two pieces, both a dark red leather, both old and worn. The top has a cut resulting from a knife wound, and Natasha hurriedly pulls the zipper down, opening up the uniform and exposing the knife wound.

It’s bad, but it could be worse.

Natasha wipes the area clean with a damp hand towel, then the wound itself with an antibacterial wipe.

He hisses. Still conscious, then.

“This is going to hurt,” she tells him, and then starts stitching him up. He flinches away at each touch. “Do you want the percocet or the vicodin or–”

His breathing evens out. From the way his entire body relaxes, Natasha guesses he just passed out.

The minutes pass quietly. With him passed out, it’s easier to patch the wound up. She ties the stitches, places a gauze pad over them, and tapes it down. Then she rolls him onto his side, and props him up so his back is leaning up against the back of the couch.

She doesn’t know what his pain tolerance is, but in case he doesn’t respond well to it – for all the pain medications she saw, she didn’t see any anti-nausea pills – he won’t asphyxiate himself.

There are no lights, best that she can see in the apartment. Instead, she pulls out her phone, and sets the screen to stay on, casting meager light around the living room.

There's a bookcase full of thick volumes of titleless books, spines dimpled as the light washes over them. She crouches down, and notices the dimples are Braille.

Daredevil's blind.

Go figure.

She sets a finger on the spine of a book, and slowly runs it down the letters. She's learned Braille, but never had too much use for it, so it takes her a few runs before she remembers the letters and then understands the title – _Criminal Procedure: Investigation and Right to Counsel_.

Daredevil’s blind and interested in law.

An interesting combination.

She pushes herself back to her feet, and walks around to the couch again. Natasha knows what men look like when they're going to die, and what they look like when they're going to survive. She lets out a sigh of relief.

It stirs him slightly. He shifts, breathing ragged as he says, “I don’t... under... stand... you...”

It’s surprisingly honest, and so Natasha replies in kind. “Not many do.”

He falls back unconscious.

She lets herself out of the apartment.

And goes to return the wallet.

 

-

 

Natasha wakes up the next morning sometime after seven, changes into a pair of sweatpants, and pulls on a t-shirt over her sports bra.

Clint is awake, still sprawled in the same position on the couch as last night, flipping through morning news shows, expression carefully blank. He sits up when she enters the living room, and hits the mute button with a bit too much haste. "I didn't wake you, right?"

She shakes her head. There’s about a two minute window after she first wakes up when she greatly prefers not talking to anyone.

He cocks his head back to watch her as she passes behind the couch. "Want to grab breakfast?"

In reply, she holds up two fingers, and continues to the kitchen. She grabs an orange from the fruit bowl, and starts carving the skin off, slicing the fruit into segments. After her wake-up period, she heads back into the living room and settles on the couch next to him. He signs ‘sorry’ at her, and she hands him an orange slice in reply.

“So, breakfast?” he asks.

She knows the answer will disgruntle him, but he would recognize any bullshit in an instant. "I'm getting coffee with Hill–” Clint’s expression closes off “ –but I can get something after that," she adds

He turns back down to the television. Though muted, the subtitles flash "The Avengers" every few lines. "What does she want coffee with you for?"

"Because she thinks I’m prettier than you.”

Clint snorts.

“Going over my Amsterdam replacement.”

“Any other reason?”

"I don't know. I have many skills, but mind reading is not one of them."

"Jury's still out on that one.”

She raises a hand to her temple. "You're thinking of the number five," she says, which gets an instant laugh out of him. Tampa was fun. She takes the remote from Clint and switches over to mindless cartoons.

He raises an eyebrow.

"So are we meeting up for breakfast, or do you want me to bring back any particular type of cereal for you to sulk into?"

"Anything that's not your crappy health food."

“That seems a bit oxymoronic.”

"It looks like dry dog food. Or bird food."

She just tilts her head to the side. "And what don't you like about that?"

“Ha ha. You are so funny. I have never heard anything like that before.”

Natasha smirks, and pushes herself up from the couch. “I’m gonna shower and head out. Text me if you need anything.”

“So you can tell me to get it myself?”

“Exactly.”

 

-

 

She meets Hill at the hole-in-wall coffeeshop three blocks away from the Green Room, passes back the stack of personnel files.

“You got an agent for me?”

“Morse.”

“Still Level Five.”

“The first mission you sent me on was a Level Four, and I barely qualified as a Level One.”

“I’ll consider it,” Hill says, handing over a SHIELD request form. She places their order with the barista, then she adds, “She’d have to go brunette.”

Natasha thinks it over as she looks over the time off request. She’s never filled one of those out before, and it takes a few moments to scan the document, looking for loopholes. Surprisingly, there are none. And Hill’s already filled out the form for her, so all Natasha needs to do is sign it. “I’ve seen her in jet-black hair. She can pull it off. And she can always go back to being blonde after.”

“True.” Hill tucks the paper between the folders and picks up her to-go cup in her free hand. “How was your night off?"

"Interesting," Natasha says, idly, casually glancing around them. The barista is running the coffee grinder, and the people closest to them are talking animatedly, so she feels comfortable saying, "I went out patrolling, and I ended up saving Daredevil's life."

Hill raises an eyebrow and nods to the door.

Natasha takes her latte from the barista, thanks her, and follows Hill outside.

"Daredevil?" Hill repeats, in a low tone. “It’s been years since we’ve heard of him being active.”

"What's SHIELD's file on him say?"

Hill stares at her for a long moment. "Daredevil predates Iron Man. Though he’s sadly less declarative about his civilian identity. Our profile on him is still in progress. I'd like you to find out his civilian identity, if you could." 

Natasha is a Google search of ‘New York blind lawyers’ away from figuring it out. “I’m off duty,” is all she replies.

“If you were off duty, you wouldn’t’ve been patrolling.”

“Off _active_ duty.”

"Let’s get lunch. There’s a nice deli nearby that my girlfriend introduced me to last time she visited.”

Natasha narrows her eyes, but is more curious than concerned. “Text me.”

 

-

 

When she returns back, a box of super-sugary off-brand cereal with her, Clint is gone. A note on a napkin says ‘evals.’

Natasha grimaces on his behalf. Been there, done that. She and Clint should get matching t-shirts when he’s finally cleared. Or some time after he’s cleared, when he can look back on it and be less aggravated about it.

She heads into the kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal. She’s not a fan of the super-sugary cereals, but she knows taking the first serving of it will make Clint laugh. Bowl in one hand, spoon in her mouth, she moves around the apartment. It’s not one she spends a lot of time in. She lends it out to a few other agents when they’re in the area, which allows it to look more lived in than it is. One of said agents signed up the apartment for a grocery service, when it was occupied, so to easier allow for an option other than endless take-out.

The apartment itself is nice. One bedroom, one bathroom, a comparatively spacious living adjacent to a cramped kitchen. Good angles, too, in case of a break-in, either through the front door or the windows.

Good TV, too. Natasha settles into Clint’s spot, and settles in to kill a few hours.

 

-

 

Hill texts her the address for a locally-run deli in Manhattan, and for the second time the day, Natasha finds herself joining Hill in line and exchanging files.

Natasha knows better than to open it in line. She starts up an inane conversation with Hill, asking what’s good here, what she likes, what her girlfriend likes, other banalities to pass the time until they can order and make their way to a corner table.

At the table, Natasha flips the file open. The initial face sheet is mostly blank, or a generic response followed up by a question mark.

"I'm less than impressed," Natasha says, as she continues flipping through. Police reports, letter clippings, eye witness statements; all secondary sources.

Hill bristles, though it's mostly unnoticeable. "In 2003, SHIELD didn't operate much in New York. More foreign concerns than domestic ones. Turns out some of the World Security Council members had their palms greased by the Kingpin, and they thought it was best to avoid a potential conflict of interest. We could only start operating in Hell’s Kitchen to track tracking Daredevil once the Kingpin was incarcerated, August of 2003. He was performing as a vigilante for six months after that, and as Fury believed he was working for the greater good, he saw no reason to pursue him. Until November of 2003."

Natasha takes the cue and obediently flips through the file faster, to the end. What greets her is a series of crime scene photos, decorated with more blood splatter than would be expected of four bodies. "Daredevil did this?" she asks.

"We suspect so. A boot print matched what we expect his shoe size and weight to be, and it was part of his MO – going after known criminals who failed to be incarcerated. SHIELD decided that the next time we saw Daredevil activity, we would bring him in, but he's seemed to have retired the past nine years. Until now."

Natasha nods, and skims back just slightly. "It says he was the one who brought the Kingpin down. And, vigilantism aside, his MO also included going after Kingpin’s associates. Why is Daredevil coming out of retirement now? Kingpin’s doing twenty-five to life.”

Their sandwiches are brought over.

Once the waitress is out of range, Natasha looks at Hill. “When is SHIELD having Kingpin released?”

“Next week.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Fury’s gone in to speak with him a few times. Kingpin has managed to make contacts in the Fridge, the Cube, the Ice Box, the Vault, the Raft. He’s agreed to maintain them and provide information on any potential security concerns, in exchange for SHIELD and the NYPD turning a blind eye to his operations. Within reason,” Hill adds. “Fury got him to agree on certain limitations.”

“Murder?” Natasha guesses.

“Mostly.”

“And the media is too busy reporting after the Battle of New York to focus on the Kingpin of the crime world being released.”

“I hate that name,” Hill says, idly. “It was an invasion, more than it was a battle.”

“But somehow the word got out about his upcoming release, and Daredevil has come out of retirement to go after Kingpin again.”

“Which gives us an extra incentive to bring him in. We lose Kingpin, we lose a lot of intel. We need Daredevil brought in,” she adds, pointedly.

"I'm not working with SHIELD in an official capacity at the moment," Natasha reminds her.

Hill doesn't look pleased. "Just know that we have to bring him in – you'll have to bring him in, when you sign back onto active-duty."

“I’ve got the rest of the week,” Natasha says. She takes a bite of her caprese sandwich. “This place is good,” she admits.

Hill takes the hint, and they start talking about food.

 

-

 

Clint still isn’t back by the time that Natasha returns.

She texts him to text her when he’s done, and settles down on the couch. Being off-duty means that Natasha technically doesn’t have access to SHIELD’s files. The file on Kingpin is nearly as scant as the file on Daredevil, but there’s a list of known accomplices. None have files that state more than their association to Kingpin, or their current prison inhabitation, and so Natasha accesses the police database via means that most would frown at, but it gets her the information she needs. Along with web searches, Natasha spends hours researching Kingpin’s circle, doing all she can to become an expert on his past dealings, speculating about how he’ll conduct business.

Kingpin isn’t allowed to murder anyone, or order others to do so. That doesn’t mean that he can’t imply and still be an accomplice, but there are other means to rule the crimeworld other than violence. Kingpin would be a fool to throw it away, and from what Natasha can tell, he’s no fool.

Clint isn’t too eager to throw around ideas of how a criminal would reintegrate into the underworld, and so they pass the time with a Law & Order marathon. For the first episode, she still looks around, hacking email accounts of previous Kingpin associates. After Clint’s increasing annoyed half-looks, though, she closes her laptop.

When the sky grows dark, Natasha gets up and stretches. “Mind if I head out tonight?”

“No, go ahead,” he says, not drawing his eyes away from the courtroom scene.

Something seems off in his voice. “You sure?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Text me how the verdict goes,” she says, as she goes to get changed into her black uniform.

 

\- 

 

Natasha waits for Daredevil on the rooftop that he was thrown off. If his file – and bottles of pain meds – is anything to go by, losing a fight and being thrown six stories into the harbor and nearly bleeding out is not going to keep him from patrolling.

"I have to say, I'm usually the one who leaves before the other wakes up."

"You feeling alright after last night?" she replies.

"I've gone through worse."

Natasha nods. She was expecting him to be stubborn enough to come out, and arrogant enough to think he could have gotten through last night without her.

She works with Clint. She's used to it.

"Black Widow," she says. "Since we weren't able to be properly introduce ourselves while you were drowning, choking, and then bleeding out."

“I hope you’ll excuse my poor manners,” he says, dryly, as he makes his way towards her. “Daredevil.”

They're standing side by side on the roof, now, him a few feet away from her.

"The man without fear," she replies. She looks him up and down. "Or so I've heard." He seemed pretty afraid last night, ten feet below the surface of the water.

"What else have you heard about me?" he asks.

She raises an eyebrow. "That you've been out of town for a few years."

"Not out of town," he replies. "Just... I didn't see a reason to be out when Kingpin was in prison."

"Going by your collection of books, I wouldn't think that you would see a lot."

His body goes tense. He turns towards her. "My books?"

"You were unconscious. I was bored. The spines of them looked... interesting."

He continues to face her. "When I woke up, my mask was still on."

"I figured you had on a mask for a reason."

"But that didn't stop you from going through my things."

She shrugs, and doesn't reply.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No," she replies. "Not at the moment." She doesn't think it would be all that hard to do a search for a blind lawyer in New York. It’s probably not too a wide pool.

His head cocks to the side. “I can’t tell if you’re lying,” he tells her. “Most people, their pulse changes. When they’re lying. When they’re nervous. Yours is as steady now as it was last night.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I can’t tell,” he repeats.

“Then you’ll have to take my word for it.”

He turns to face out towards the pier. "Thank you," he says, quietly, after a long moment.

"You're welcome," she replies.

But his attention is elsewhere, face turned away from her, holding a hand out.

Very faintly, Natasha hears the sound of arguing, glass crashing. “How far away?”

“A block and a half south.”

Natasha shoots him a grin. “Race you.”

It turns out to be another mugging. This time with a male victim and two muggers. The victim is a nondescript businessman in a suit, holding his briefcase up in front of him. The muggers don’t run off at the sight of Natasha and Daredevil, and both are holding handguns.

Natasha doesn’t feel inclined towards giving them any leniency. Neither are particularly skilled combatants. Natasha’s opponent projects their punches, making them easy to dodge. It takes Natasha two hits for the guy to go limp.

Daredevil’s fight lasts a few more moves, and it allows Natasha to watch. His fighting style is that of a brawler. He doesn’t make much of an effort to avoid being hit, just uses the close proximity to punch back, and punch harder. A grunt of pain accompanies each hit, before the mugger falls to the ground.

Natasha does a sweep of the area – the would-have-been-mugged had run off during the fight, and the sound of a struggle hadn’t drawn any outside attention – and then turns back to Daredevil. "That was fun," she says.

Daredevil's chest is heaving – he's out of shape, Natasha would guess. His face is downturned, towards the body below him.

"He still alive?" Natasha says, looking down at the body below Daredevil.

Daredevil nods. "Yours is too."

"Good to know," Natasha replies, pulling out her phone. “Think either are going to wake up in the next fifteen minutes?”

He shakes his head.

“Even better.” She texts an agent of SHIELD’s clean-up crew to take them in. After pocketing her phone, she starts walking down the alley, and then jumps up to the fire escape, and starts climbing up it. From the clanking of metal below her, she's guessing Daredevil is doing the same. But then he slides up past her, courtesy of the grappling extension to his cane. “Cheat!” she calls after him.

Faintly, she can hear him laugh.

She joins him on the rooftop. Despite the lesser effort exerted, his chest is still heaving. While his body looked well-toned last night, it lacked the definition she sees in most fighters who hone themselves daily. But while his body may have softened, his reflexes and maneuverability are still quite sharp. She meets him at the edge of the building. Natasha has never spent much time in Hell’s Kitchen, but it’s a nice view. "How do you see, if you don't mind me asking?"

He turns towards her. "I don't," he says, voice dry, but he sounds just slightly amused.

She huffs out a laugh. “Well you fight better than most people who can actually see their opponent. How do you navigate?”

He reaches a hand up, and taps his ear. "I've got good hearing."

She nods, and tilts her head. "Do you sense small movements?"

"You just tilted your head," he says, in reply.

She nods, again, and starts walking behind him in a slow arc.

"And now you're circling me."

As quietly as she can manage, she pushes herself up onto the edge of the building and passes in front of him.

“And now you’re sneaking in front of me. Very quietly, I might add. Anyone else wouldn’t have heard it.”

“You’re the first to,” she admits, half between annoyance and appreciation. She jumps down back to her original spot beside him. “You have complete range, then.”

"I do."

"I'm impressed. And I don’t impress easily.”

"I got that impression," he says, sounding amused.

Her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out, glances at the screen. It's Clint. She declines the call, and quickly taps out a _gimme 5._

"You going to be out again tomorrow night?" she asks.

"I don't see any reason why I wouldn't be," he says, dryly.

"Well, there’s still some time before the Kingpin is going to be released.”

"Do you know that for a fact?" Daredevil asks. "Or are you just speculating?"

"I've intercepted some communication between him and some of his lackeys."

His body tenses. “What do you know about him?”

“Only as much as you do.”

“I didn’t intercept any information. I’m only going off whispers of rumors.” He comes in closer. “Tell me what you know.”

Natasha tilts her head up to look at him. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“Fine. Whatever question you have.”

"What happened?" Natasha asks.

"What happened when?"

"November, 2003."

He stiffens, and turns away from her. “Anything but that,” he says, voice lower, rougher. “I’ll find the information on my own.” And then he’s jumping to the next building over.

Well, fuck.

 

-

 

The next morning, Natasha can’t decide whether she is more apologetic or curious regarding her encounter last night. She considers talking it over with Clint, but he’s out cold on the couch.

Halfway through her shower, she decides on the first option. She’ll get her answers eventually, but an apology is in order. Or will be, once she finds him. She rummages through her closet, and pulls out a business-casual black dress that has a hemline that falls at her knees and a neckline that dips to her cleavage.

Perfect for Natalie Rushman.

Stark Industry’s New York branch is possibly more hectic than the Green Room had been. Natasha still manages to glide through the lobby, and make her way up towards the executive offices on the higher floors to track down Pepper.

"I replaced you,” Pepper says, as Natasha falls in step with her. “I told HR that you needed an extended leave of absence. You’re on retainer, though, and you are _more_ than welcome to rejoin Legal if by any chance you happen to have any time off.”

“Maria talks too much,” Natasha says, before lightening her voice. “I apologize for neglecting any of my duties, and I would be more than happy to help you in whatever way I could, but unfortunately my schedule this week is rather packed already.” With Clint brooding, it seems. “I do have a few free hours, if that would be any use."

“Any hour–” Pepper says, some exasperation leaking into her expression as her phone goes off. She gives Natasha an apologetic grimace, before listening to what sounds like a rapid-fire twenty-second rant. “Any spare minute would be of use, Miss Rushman. If you could head down to Legal, and send up Mr. Roberts, I need to talk to him for a minute."

"Of course, Miss Potts," Natasha replies, before making her way back to the elevators, and down to Legal's floor.

It takes her awhile to get through security – she's had Fury get her an updated Stark Industries ID card, but no one seems all too willing to listen when she tells them that she’s on retainer and spends most of her time in the LA branch. Happy has been made head of security, and has taken his job perhaps more seriously than necessary.

She finds Mr. Roberts with ease, and he looks up at her with pure terror fear as Natasha instructs him to go speak to Pepper. It’s an expression she usually sees when marks discover that she’s the Black Widow, and she can only imagine what has happened the past few days as to why Pepper would garner the same response.

Mr. Roberts rushes out of his office – only half-bothering to maintain dignity – without locking his computer.

Natasha was expecting her opportunity to come later in the day, but she anticipates Pepper’s requested minute will be slightly longer than that. She makes her way over to his desk and sits down.

She's been afraid to look up Daredevil while in her own apartment, not trusting that there aren't security measures monitoring her browser history. But SHIELD doesn't know she's here at the moment, she's not logged on into the system, and there's no reason why someone in Legal looking up a lawyer would be suspicious.

In a new window, Natasha runs a search for 'New York blind lawyer.'

She gets a few more hits than she was expecting – mostly New York lawyers using slogans around how Justice is Blind – but the seventh item listed down is a New York Times article referencing ‘Nelson and Murdock.’

The article is a few years old, but she recognizes the lower half of Daredevil's face on Matthew Murdock.

She also recognizes Franklin Nelson standing next to him as Happy.

She goes back to Google, and plugs in Nelson and Murdock. Over a few articles, she’s able to piece together that the firm dissolved nine years ago, unable to collect the funds from its defendants well enough to support itself. Murdock went on to found the Murdock Law Firm, while nothing is mentioned of Nelson. 

Natasha wonders how much Stark had to do with that.

Briefly tempted to delete the browser history, Natasha decides it would draw more attention than deflect it. Instead, she plays a game of article jumping, looking into dissolved law firms of the past decade. A quick search of the intranet server, and Natasha finds that some employee helpfully compiled a spreadsheet of addresses for all the lawyers in the city. It takes a moment to memorize the address for the Murdock Law Firm, and then she leaves the chair just askew from how Roberts left it, and walks back out of his office.

Roberts passes Natasha as she makes her way to the elevators.

Natasha strategizes the best plan of attack during the ride to Pepper’s office, before deciding on a classic. “What else do you need? Coffee?”

It’s a code back from LA. Any given Stark Industries facility is outfitted with multiple means to make coffee, but it’s an opening to offer anything.

Pepper assesses her. “I thought you were busy this week.”

“As I said, I have a few hours to spare. You still take one cream, no sugar?”

“And as many espresso shots as possible. And whatever else you deem appropriate.”

“Gyros?” Natasha offers. “I know a good place, though it’s a little bit out of the way.” Just past Hell’s Kitchen, but Pepper has liked all the gyro stands Natasha has gotten her food from back in LA, so she think she has some leeway.

“As long as the coffee has espresso, you can get me whatever you want.” 

 

-

 

It's the middle of the day, and even if he doesn’t have any clients – which seems to be a likely option – Natasha just knows that he’s going to at the office. Natasha makes her way up to the roof much as she did the other night. Despite the dress and heel combo, she's able to do it more quickly without over two hundred pounds of dead weight slung across her back.

Natasha remembers the password from last night, and enters in the 77-41-7 from last night, and the door clicks open.

Sunlight streams in from behind her, and she observes the hallway. She closes the door behind her, and it takes her a moment to adjust to the way the light dims. There are a few windows – the one above the kitchen sink, the one in the living area – that provide ambient lighting to the apartment, but that’s all there is. No lamps that Natasha can see, and she presumes that he doesn’t entertain many guests. 

The pair of red boxing gloves seem to be the only personal touch to the apartment. It’s spacious but spartan, all brushed chrome metal and industrial non-designs. Impersonal. The pile of mail consists of credit card offers. The kitchen is bare. All the elements that would make it feel lived in – the suits hung on an open rack, metal braille-imprinted tags hanging from each one; the stereo, with its volume knob turned to max; the pain medications lined around the bathroom sink – are functional rather than personal.

A man removed from his environment, devoid of attachments.

Natasha can relate.

She makes one more sweep of the apartment, and then goes to get Pepper’s coffee and lunch.

 

-

 

“Let’s get dinner,” Natasha says, as she strides into her apartment. She kicks off her heels, and flexes her toes, sighing in relief. She’s been in less comfortable heels for longer times, but it’s been awhile, the straps on these dig into the sides of her feet.

“Where have you been all day?” Clint asks. He looks back to see her. “Ah. Natalie or Babette?”

“Natalie. I’ve been with the Legal department of Stark Industries.”

“How’s that been?”

“I need a cheesesteak and a beer. Or two. I found a nice deli.”

“You buying?”

“Not a chance,” Natasha says, making her way to her bedroom.

“Do they offer Avenger discounts?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Clint has on shoes and a jacket by the time Natasha has changed into a t-shirt and jeans. He makes a show of checking his non-existent watch while Natasha laces up her favorite pair of combat boots. She shoulders him as they make their way out of the apartment, and he lasts half a block before he shoulders her back.

“So, when did you find this deli?”

“Hill introduced it to me.”

Clint slows, just slowly, almost imperceptibly, and makes a slight hum in reply.

She stops, and raises an eyebrow at him. "Got a problem with that?"

He stops, turns to look at her, and manages to keep her gaze for a few moments, before looking away.

"That's what I thought," she replies, and continues towards the deli. "I've heard great things about their French dip, you'll love it."

They're at the door, only they find that the 'open' light in the window is off. The hours listed shows that it closed two hours ago.

Clint gives her a look. "Didn’t ask for an Avengers discount, and you forgot to check the hours listed?" he asks, tone casual, but the sharp look in his eyes shows that he doesn't buy it for a second.

She shrugs. "Must have. There's another diner she recommended a few blocks over, or so."

"Or we're in New York City, and could eat anywhere.”

"Hill's girlfriend is a foodie–”

“Hill’s girlfriend is a _yuppie_.”

Natasha snorts. “I’m not going to be the one to tell Hill that. She still has great culinary finds. I'm hungry, but not hungry enough not to find someplace good to eat."

"I am," Clint replies.

"That's because you've been spending more time sulking around my apartment than eating."

He shoulders her again, though his annoyance is just a cover for the hint of amusement. "So what's the charade for?" he murmurs, slinging an arm around her shoulders, leaning in closer.

"Nothing I'm discussing in public," she replies, as she turns him down another street. She scans the buildings they pass, and says, "Keep up a conversation that I can tune out of."

"Isn't that most of them?"

She elbows him, which gets a slight laugh out of him, before he starts an old auto-pilot conversation of theirs.

As they get closer, she says, "Tie your shoe. Now."

He goes down, allowing Natasha to get another moment to look at the business building to their side. It's smaller, it looks cramped even from the outside, and one of the businesses listed on the placard is ‘The Murdock Law Firm.’ The office hours of the building are listed, and she stores them in the back of her mind, before walking ahead of Clint, saying, "Hurry up, I'm hungry."

They get to the diner, and Natasha immediately sets up the device that blocks any sort of surveillance while lacking any sort of indication that it is doing such, and attaches it to the underside of the table. Courtesy of Stark, whether he knows it or not.

"So what is this charade about?" Clint repeats, once her arms come up to rest on the table.

Natasha looks up at the waitress who comes and drops off two glasses of water, and takes their drink orders – him an Arnold Palmer, her a Diet Coke. Which turns into a Diet Pepsi, which gets an amused look from Clint.

When the waitress is out of hearing range, Natasha asks, "What do you know about Daredevil?"

Clint takes a drink of his water. "Vigilante. Wears a mask. Gave Fury the idea to collect superheroes. Never particularly gentle with his victims, but he had a possible psychotic break ‘bout nine years back, and he hung up his mask afterwards."

"He primarily went after the Kingpin," Natasha continues for him. "Now that the Kingpin is due to be released from prison, Daredevil has started back up, and he's trying to take down the Kingpin's closest confidantes, so he'll have easier access to the Kingpin when he's released."

"He gonna kill him?"

"I think so," Natasha replies.

“Is that a bad thing? I’ve never been a fan of organized crime.”

“SHIELD has an interest in Kingpin.”

Clint hums.

Their drinks arrive.

"So I'm guessing you've been out patrolling with the Daredevil for the past few nights?" At her nod, he continues, "So what's he like?"

She pauses, looking over his shoulder for a few moments, and thinking. Rough. Angry. Lost. "A bit like me, before you brought me into SHIELD," she says, finally.

"What's the likelihood that he'll end up replacing me in your affections?" Clint asks, and though his voice is teasing, there's a concerned edge to his posture.

"Low," Natasha replies, immediately, without even thinking about it. "He'll never join SHIELD, and he'll never be able to cover my back like you do."

Clint nods, and doesn't bother hiding the fact he's pleased.

“Besides,” she adds. “I don’t need a second work husband.”

He raises an eyebrow. “When did I become your work husband?”

“Where else do unknown marriages happen?”

“Vegas was fun,” Clint agrees. “You gonna see him later tonight?”

“I overstepped a boundary the other night,” she says, carefully.

“You?” Clint asks, doing a very good job at feigning surprise. “Pushing buttons?”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“In which case, if you’re free tonight, you wanna get this for take-out, grab a six-pack, and critique the fight scenes in the Bourne films?”

She smiles. “This is why I don’t need a second work husband.”

 

-

 

Natasha gives Pepper and the ever-growing Stark Industries Legal Division her early morning hours. She proofs counter lawsuits for hours, keeping an eye on the time. Around ten, she finishes the proof read, and informs her lead that she’s stepping out for a break.

The office building housing the Murdock Law Firm is not as cramped as it had looked on the outside, but there isn’t much to be impressed by. Natasha makes her way up to the second floor, noting all the places the wallpaper is peeling, how the wooden steps are all scuffed up. The Murdock Law Firm is a one-room office on the second floor, and easy to find as none of the other offices have their names on the door.

She knocks on the door, a quick three raps.

"Come in," comes his voice from within the office.

She twists the doorknob. It's locked. She smiles, despite herself, and pulls a bobby pin out of her hair. Then she shifts, so her body is blocking the sight of the doorknob from the stairs, and spends a quick minute picking the lock. She slides her bobby pin back into her hair, and then opens the door.

"Want me to lock the door behind me?" she asks, hanging in the doorway.

"You can if you'd like," he replies. The red-tinted sunglasses don’t disguise the structure of his face, and she can match him to Daredevil, as well as the picture online. Only the picture she had seen of him had been taken years ago, and it didn’t do him justice. Distantly, she realizes he’s attractive. He’s wearing a slate blue suit, and a lighter blue dress shirt. His tie is the same red of his Daredevil suit, possibly a coincidence, possibly an admission.

A law book is in front of him, his finger skimming over the Braille-printed pages, but he tracks her movement as she sits down in the chair across from his desk. He lifts up his hand, and extends it towards her. "Matt Murdock."

"Natasha Romanoff," she replies, shaking his hand. 

"It's good to finally get your name," he tells her, before going back to his law book.

"You already knew the one that mattered," she replies, before turning back to the door. "Do you always make your clients pick the lock to enter your office?"

“Are you a client, Natasha?”

“Your visitors, then.”

"I just thought you enjoyed it, with the regularity you do it."

She smiles. She knows that he would have known she entered his apartment, but she’s curious as to which aspect gave her away. Instead, she says, "I’m thinking about buying a lamp."

"Buying a lamp," he repeats.

"To go in the entrance hallway, on the table where it cuts off into the kitchen. I was lucky that it was a full moon the other night, but any other night would have made things a little bit more difficult. I already found one online that I think might work.”

"Really. How does it look?"

"Hideous," she replies. "Kind of a seventies hunting lodge feel to it."

Matt laughs, shaking his head.

"You're taking this better than expected," Natasha observes.

"You've hardly been conscientious of my boundaries since we first met. I figured it was only a matter of time before you tracked me down here as well."

"Are you referring to how I saved you from drowning in a pier, or saved you from bleeding out at the door to your apartment?"

"I remember it differently."

She snorts. “Blood-loss does have an impact on memory.”

He shakes his head again, but there’s a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Actually, I came to apologize,” Natasha says. “You hung up your mask after what you did. I should have been more considerate. I’m sorry.”

His hand stills. “I’ve thought about what I did, nearly every day, for the past nine years. But I hadn’t spoken about it since it happened.” He sighs, and is quiet for a long minute. “If I ask you if you’re telling me the truth, I have no way of telling if you actually are.”

“Ask me anyways.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“In part. I also came to make sure I was right about your identity. And I wanted to ask you out to coffee.”

He raises an eyebrow, and considers her for a long minute. Slowly, he says, “Alright.”

She smiles. “Are you in the middle of working on a case, or would you care to go now?”

“I’ve had a few more clients since the weekend, but I don’t have any client visits scheduled for a few hours. And I make sure to post my number in case any emergencies arise.”

“Good. Do you have a preferred place to get coffee in the area?”

“You choose.” He gives her a smile. “That, or you can try and figure it out yourself.”

“There’s a coffee-cup from a place called Jo’s in your wastebasket. Which you really should recycle.”

Matt gets to his feet, and shakes his head. He grabs his cane. “I really should,” he agrees.

It’s a quiet walk down the two blocks to Jo’s. Not exactly a comfortable, companionable silence, but Natasha has endured far worse silence. She knows she should apologize again, and plans on it, but for now, she just enjoys the warm May weather. 

When they reach the barista at the register, Natasha orders a vanilla latte, and adds, "And whatever Matt is getting."

"I can pay," Matt says, not seeming to be all that bothered by her dropping his name.

"Nonsense," Natasha says, handing over Natalie Rushman’s debit card over to the barista, who is looking between them, surprised. "This is an equal-opportunity relationship."

The barista blinks a few times. "Your usual, Mr. Murdock?"

"That will be fine," he says, and Natasha catches the slightest tension in his voice.

"I'll bring your drinks over when they're ready," she says, as she slides a receipt over for Natasha to sign, which she scribbles on with a flourish, then pushes it back over.

"You know, I was expecting you to track me down earlier," Matt says, once they're settled down in their seats.

“I thought about it. But I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to raise any suspicions.”

"Thanks," he says, though Natasha finds the touch of sarcasm unnecessary.

She rolls her eyes, but then smiles up at the barista who brings them their drinks. The barista smiles back, glancing at Matt, before hurrying back to the counter.

Natasha blows across the surface of her latte.

Matt has his drink between his hands, but he hasn't taken a sip yet. "Pass the honey?"

Natasha takes the bear-carton of honey from its location at her elbow and moves it towards the center of the table.

He gives her an unimpressed look, then reaches forward and grabs it.

Natasha wraps a hand around his wrist as he's pulling it back towards him. Faint white lines criss-cross around his knuckles. "More scars than I was expecting," she murmurs.

"You should see my back," he tells her.

“I missed my opportunity last time,” she tells him, and lets his hand go. "Is this an invitation to correct that, Mr. Murdock?"

He clears his throat as he squeezes honey into his tea. "How are you going to explain meeting me, if you are followed?"

"You're Matt Murdock, attorney at law," Natasha says, simply. "I’m Natalie Rushman, I work at Stark Industries in their Legal department. You work in criminal law, Stark is facing civil lawsuits, but that’s not to say that we couldn’t pass each other at a justice center. Or we could say that I heard about you through the grapevine, and asked you out to dinner." She adopts an airy voice as she says, "I just think you're so strong, how you're a lawyer but working through such a disability."

He flinches, just slightly.

"I'm guessing you get that a lot?" she asks, dryly.

"Never so explicitly said, but I can tell. Nothing really ruins the mood as much as figuring out someone is only into me out of pity." He takes a sip of his drink. "You don't pity me," he observes.

"I don't," she agrees, taking a sip of her latte.

He seems pleased, and takes a longer drink. “You don’t seem like a Natalie,” he tells her.

“I can be.”

“You could.”

Natasha nods, and looks around. “So what is the extent of your senses in a busy room?”

“Extensive.”

She looks back to where the barista is talking in low tones with her coworker. "What's our barista saying?"

He's quiet for a moment, then says, "She's talking to her coworker, saying how glad she is that I found a girlfriend, that it was so sad that I was all alone, it's good there's someone to look after me now." His tone shows how happy he is with that line of thought.

"I'll fight crime with you, go after Kingpin’s associates with you, but I'm not looking after you," Natasha tells him. She looks at him over the rim of her mug. "I already have one partner I need to look after, you're my stress-free fling."

"I'm flattered," he says, dryly.

She smiles at him. "So where are we meeting later tonight, or am I still in the doghouse?"

“I feel as though I’m usually the one asking that. But I accept your apology.” 

“Good.” She leans in. “Because I have some information that will make you very happy.”

“And what would that be?”

“Nothing we should discuss in public. Shall I walk you back to your office?”

The barista gives them a cheerful good-bye as she gathers their mugs, and Natasha plays the role of the doting maybe-girlfriend and loops her hand around his bicep. Natasha has been cataloguing every detail of the shop, but she guesses that Matt still knows it better than she does.

As they’re stepping outside, Pepper calls.

“Miss Potts,” Natasha says.

Pepper’s voice is tight as she says, “How soon can we get you back from your break? Three insurance companies just delivered lawsuits.”

“I’m on my way back now,” Natasha replies, and the only answer is a satisfied noise and the dial tone.

“You really do work at Stark Industries,” Matt says.

“Only in part,” she admits. “I’ll explain later, but I should be getting back.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers. This time, he takes her arm as they start walking.

Natasha looks at him. “You just want to know what I know.”

“No,” he says, not bothering to make the lie sound convincing. “If we’re dating, I feel I should know more about you.”

“And since you’re a lawyer, it’s only natural that you’re curious about my job. You thinking about targeting insurance companies next?”

“I pick up where the law left off,” Matt says. “The only reason there have been so many muggings, it’s because all these insurance companies are doing backflips, exploiting every loophole they can to keep from paying out. Crimes are going back up because the Kingpin is being released, but also because honest citizens are being denied claims and are struggling to make ends meet.”

Natasha hums. She knows that at least a dozen of the agents she had seen at the Green Room were lawyers, and she’s fairly certain that SHIELD is doing what it can to keep insurance companies honest. “And as much as I have enjoyed stopping muggings, I know about a meeting of Kingpin’s men this evening that would benefit from an intervention.”

“Oh?”

“Can’t tell you much now, but I’ll fill you in later.” She gently pulls her arm from Matt’s hand. “See you later tonight? Same place as usual?”

“Same place,” he replies, shaking his head as if he scarcely believes it.

 

-

 

Natasha is already growing to like the rooftop.

Though facing away, she can hear him approach. Not as quickly as if their positions were reversed, which Natasha finds refreshing. “If I could ask a different question?”

“I believe you already did.”

She huffs.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like it,” Matt says, “but you’re free to ask.”

Natasha sits down on the ledge of the roof and asks, “Why Fisk?”

Matt is quiet for a long minute. “He killed my father.”

Avenging is a strong motivator.

Natasha doesn’t want to press, but Matt continues, “Blind kid growing up in Hell’s Kitchen, life wasn’t easy for me. I learned – not to let it be, but to overcome. There are only three things I haven’t been able to overcome. The death of my father, the death of my girlfriend, and... and what I did, that night in November.”

Distant sounds come from below. Laughter and animated conversation by the harbor. The low and steady rumble of traffic. Music through the open window of a nearby apartment.

Then, “I don’t want to tell you what happened that night.”

"I won't judge you for it," she says, before turning away. She murmurs, "I've done worse."

A few seconds pass, and then he's sitting down next to her. "They were serial killers," he tells her. "All of them. In the past two years they'd been working together, they had over two dozen victims. The FBI finally caught up with them, in New York, and they were prosecuted here. They should have gone to prison. Life sentences for all of them. But there was prosecution misconduct, and there was a mistrial, and additional police misconduct made it so they would never be tried. But they were guilty, and they deserved to be punished.

"But when I got to the warehouse they were staying at... I was planning on killing them. But they were bragging about being let off the hook. They were already planning their next attack. And I snapped. I never saw the pictures, but the news described their murders in enough detail, the way they brutalized their victims, and I wanted to brutalize them.

"For everything I had done in the past, I always considered myself the good guy. Picking up where the law left off. I never wanted to hurt the rapists and murderers and criminals I went after. But I wanted to hurt these monsters. And I did. And I kept hitting them, even after I had heard all their heartbeats stop. And I knew I couldn’t come back from that. I knew I had to stop."

Natasha nods, slowly. "What happened before that? Ever since you brought the Kingpin in, your crimes got sloppier and sloppier."

"I was dealing with a lot.”

"Such as...?" Natasha prompts.

Daredevil turns to her. His lips are pressed in a thin line. But when she doesn't retract her question, he sighs. "My business was going down the drain, and my partner and I fell out over it. My girlfriend, Elektra, had been murdered by the Kingpin, and I was still mourning her death. And with Kingpin in jail, and the way the crime of New York didn't stop, I was suffering a crisis of self.

"You said you've done worse. I really don't think you have."

Natasha shakes her head. "I won’t lie to you about my past.”

“But you won’t tell me about it.”

“No,” Natasha says. A moment of hesitation, then, “Not yet, at least. I’ve hurt a lot of people. Killed a lot of people. Done a lot of things I regret. You have to absolve yourself of the guilt and move on.”

He gives her a self-deprecating smile. “I’m Catholic.”

She snorts. 

His smile fades. “I went to my Father. I asked for forgiveness, received it, and vowed never to kill again.”

“But you’ll still mercilessly kick ass.”

“Only to those who deserve it.”

“Speaking of... “

He turns to her.

“I found out that an old Kingpin associate is planning a hit on a high-ranking member of the Irish mob. Which wouldn’t go well.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“So we go to their warehouse, and see if there’s any way to reason with them. He’s been charged half a dozen times with assault, and none of them have stuck. But I have some friends in high places who will be able to make the charges stick.”

Matt stands up, and takes a few steps away from her.

She pushes herself up, and closes the few steps. In a low voice, she says, “I know what it’s like to go too far. Too far down. To question yourself afterwards. But the best thing I could do then was to prove to myself that I could go and not sink to that low again. These are bad guys, Matt, and it will be a good thing to take them down. You didn’t sink to the same low last night, and I don’t believe you’ll sink to it tonight.”

He turns to her. “What do you need me for?”

“I don’t. I could do it on my own, but there are some things that are more fun with a partner.”

Matt huffs a laugh. “Lead on.”

 

-

 

There’s over two dozen men in the warehouse.

It’s a fun night.

 

-

 

Pepper calls Natasha up to her office the next morning.

“You wanted to see me, Miss Potts?” Natasha asks, demure, deferential.

She waves a hand. “Pepper, please. I don’t want to be called _Miss Potts_ for another–” she checks her watch “– five minutes at least.”

Natasha nods. "Pepper, then. What can I do for you?"

Pepper opens a drawer down to her side, and pulls out a piece of paper, and slides it over.

It's an invitation to the pre-release party of Wilson Fisk. Simple white paper, black ink, and embossed lettering. It's simple and elegant.

She's heard Kingpin was as much.

Hill’s going to be pissed.

“When did you receive this?”

“This morning. Hand delivered. I called and talked to Maria about it, but she found she had to unexpectedly tend to other matters,” Pepper says, dryly. “And so I’d like to ask you if there's anything I should know about Mr. Fisk." After a moment, she pointedly corrects, "Anything I should know about Mr. Fisk that would be more known among SHIELD than the news outlets."

Natasha feels sympathy pains for the SHIELD PR team that is going to have to work to keep this from the media.

"I've been looking into Fisk's old associates, at SHIELD’s suggestion.” She slides the invitation back over. "However, I'm not on a case, or a mission, and so there is no confidentiality to worry about. Fisk is the Kingpin. There's the potential for a power struggle now that such a key player is back on the board again, though I don't think anyone would try anything too drastic. Especially on such short notice."

"Should I go? Should Tony go?"

"There's no security risk for you to go, and little security risk if Stark were to."

"So Tony won't go," Pepper says, tone leaving no room for argument. "But should I?"

Natasha considers it. "As a businesswoman, I think it might be in your interests to do so. Although a lot of Fisk's ventures were in the criminal underworld and mostly illegal, there were still some legitimate corporate dealings, so you going wouldn't make you guilty by association. I haven't heard any feedback on people who have gone to his galas, so I can't say if he talks to all his guests, so there might be a possibility that you wouldn't even interact with him. That way you're not insulting who used to be one of the most powerful men in New York, but you're not making yourself out as good friends."

Pepper sighs in relief. "I was thinking something along the lines of that, but it’s nice to have someone who thinks so as well.”

Natasha’s gaze drops down to where the invitation is resting on Pepper’s desk. “Would you mind if I took an early lunch?”

“You’ll have to clear it with your team lead,” Pepper replies. The half-smile on her face implies that it’s a joke, though the tired look in her eyes says otherwise.

“Need me to bring you back anything? Natasha offers.

Pepper closes her eyes. After a long minute of consideration, she says, “I need a cheeseburger. And later, a cocktail.”

Natasha nods. “I can do that.”

 

-

 

Matt wrinkles his nose as she walks in. "You changed your shampoo," he observes.

"Lavender," is all that Natasha replies, as she comes around to his side of the desk and leans back against it. "I'm spending more time undercover, I thought it best to stay in character.”

"Of course, Miss Rushman," Matt replies. His brow is furrowed, and he doesn’t seem too thrilled for her to be here. "Anything that I can help you with, or are you just here for a social call?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing."

He continues to face her for a long moment. "I’m fine. I have a new client that will be here any minute–”

“Is that why you left the door unlocked?”

“–and court is in an hour and a half–”

Natasha frowns. “That seems pretty short notice for a new client.”

“We already met once, earlier this morning.”

“Did anything happen to his previous lawyer?”

He shakes his head. "It's just traffic law."

"You're in criminal law."

"It's traffic law," Matt repeats, dryly. "And he's paying me by the Laffey Matrix, which is a rate I've never been paid at before. It's just two or three hours."

"Need any help? I know a few things about New York traffic law."

Matt furrows his brow. "Why?"

"For a job."

"For who?" he asks. "All I know is that you work for Stark Industries in part, and never got around to explaining what exactly that means."

"I'll explain it to you," she says, and it feels like a promise. "Want me to go to court with you, though?"

"As much as I appreciate the offer, Natalie, I'm fine," he says, his smile and tone a bit off.

There's a knock at the door.

The man standing in the doorway is not one Natasha has ever met in person, but one she's seen a few times by now. Michael Kempf, one of Kingpin's old associates.

"Hello," he greets, politely, looking her up and down, gaze lingering for a moment longer at the sliver of her dark purple bra that can been seen from what her black dress shirt doesn’t cover. "I'm Michael Kempf, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure."

Beside her, Matt tenses. Natasha ignores it, and opens her mouth to introduce herself but Matt meets her to it. "Michael, this is my girlfriend, Natalie Rushman."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Natasha says, making her voice sweet.

"Likewise, Miss Rushman."

"I apologize, Mr. Kempf, we were just chatting, and we have a quick discussion to conclude. If you could gives us a moment, we'll finish up our conversation, and then I'll accompany you to the Justice Center."

“Take your time,” Kempf says, as he walks back out of the office.

Voice low, Natasha says, "You do know he's one of Kingpin's men, right?"

"It's why I'm going to traffic court."

"You'll take Kingpin's money?"

Matt's mouth tightens. "I'll take the intel he lets slip because he underestimates me. Kempf doesn't know the extent of my powers."

It hits Natasha. "But Kingpin does."

"Yes. During our confrontation, he unmasked me."

"He knows you're Daredevil," Natasha says, quietly. She came to inform and warn Matt about the gala, but if Fisk knows the identity of the man who got him sent to prison… "Did you get an invitation?"

He nods.

"You can't go."

"You can't stop me."

Natasha leans in. "Yes," she tells him. "I can."

He stands up, and faces her down. "Who do you work for?"

"The Strategic Homeland Intelligence, Espionage, and Logistics Division."

“SHIELD.”

“Yes.”

"SHIELD knows about me."

"No. I've covered my tracks. I've taken the week off."

"Right after the Battle of New York? I don't buy it."

Natasha feels a flash of anger, and she rises to her feet. "A very good friend of mine was incapacitated because of the battle, and I have taken the week off to help him through it. Or I intended to, but he's rebuffed all of my attempts to help him through it. And I had an old cover at Stark Industries, and I thought it would be a good way to help in the aftermath.”

Matt frowns. "Why are you here? Did SHIELD–"

"I’m here because it's my week off, and I am doing what I want to do.” Which, at the moment, does not involve being around Matt. She moves past him and starts towards the door.

“Natasha, I–”

She turns back around. “You’re going to be late for court if you don’t hurry.”

"Are you–”

"I'll see you on the rooftop later," Natasha tells him, before leaving his office.

 

-

 

"You seem down," Clint says, two episodes into yet another police procedural marathon.

Natasha doesn’t look away from the TV. "I went and saw Daredevil. We argued."

"Are you having a domestic?"

"Are we?" Natasha asks.

Clint goes tense. "What?"

"I took the week off to help you out. I don't feel like I've done that."

Clint shrugs. "You're doing what you can do."

"You're brushing me off when I offer, and I don't know what else to do."

Clint shrugs. "It's a shitty situation."

"I can buy you another pizza."

"You could not eat my cereal."

Natasha cracks a smile at that. "Believe me, I won't be making that mistake again."

"You buy me something you think is terrible?"

Her smile broadens.

Clint rolls his eyes at her. "You," he tells her, "are terrible."

Natasha leans back. "I know."

"You going back into Stark Legal later?"

Natasha is quiet for a long minute. "Stark is sometimes... difficult to manage," she says, "but I do like Pepper. Working for her, as Natalie, it was one of the covers I really enjoyed. It's nice to be able to help out in some ways, since I'm not really helping you."

"Any way I can put some time in to help too?"

"I'll put a good word in with Pepper."

"Stark should vouch for me." After a beat, he says, “Even though we really haven’t talked much. Yet. We’re still teammates. He’d vouch for me, right?”

"He would, but Stark vouching for you would go against you in Pepper's book."

Clint snorts.

Minutes later, Natasha’s Natalie phone buzzes.

“Have fun being a fake lawyer,” Clint tells her. “Bring me back food.”

 

-

 

Nick is loitering inconspicuously on a bus bench as Natasha makes her way to her apartment. As she passes, he gets up, and falls in step with her. “Dinner?”

“You paying?”

“The World Security Council is undergoing a complete financial reorganization. You’re on retainer with Stark Industries.”

“Doesn’t Natalie Rushman’s paycheck go to a SHIELD account?”

Nick shrugs. “It goes to your debit card first.”

“Where to?”   
“Hill’s girlfriend introduced me to a deli nearby.”

“They’re not open this late at night.”

“Not unless you know the owner.”

Of course he does.

“Where do you need to ship me?” Natasha asks, a few minutes later, relaxing into her side of the booth.

“You’re on your week off.”

“But SHIELD is in full crisis-management mode, and I don’t imagine you’d have time for a social call.”

“For you, I can make an exception. I just wanted to touch base before you return to work on Monday. See how things are going.”

“See how Barton’s doing?”   
“I’m looped in on all the emails regarding Barton.”  “And?”   
“You gonna pass the news along to him?”   
“I know I’m not supposed to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Natasha smiles at him.

“He’ll be back in the field by Monday. They’re putting off telling him the good news–”

“Because they want to see how he reacts to the bad news,” Natasha finishes. She gives him a quirk of a smile. “I’ve been through this routine before.”

“I’m thinking of getting him a bottle in apologies. What does he like?”   
“Cheap beer and cheap tequila.”

“Excellent.”

The lone worker comes over to take their orders. Nick orders a Reuben. Natasha a turkey club, and a Cuban to go.

“What’s going to happen when I go back?” Natasha asks.

“Hill wants you to bring in Daredevil.”

“And you?”   
“Nothing wrong with having a back-up plan.”

“But you’re happy with the current team.”

“I’d be happier if we could have gotten Thor or Banner to stick around. And I’ll be happy when you and Barton are back in the field.”

“And when I’m back in the field Monday, Hill’s ordering me to bring Daredevil in.”

“Any particular reason why you’re unhappy with that?” Nick asks.

“We’ve patrolled together a few times. He’s not interested in joining SHIELD, or having his civilian identity known.”

Nick nods. “I’ll pass that on to Hill. Pass the ketchup?”

 

-

 

Natasha and Matt stop three muggings, a robbery, and an attempted car theft.

Through it, they don’t talk to each other.

It gets late, and Natasha has an early morning tomorrow. She turns to Matt, and tells him, “I’m not turning you in to SHIELD.”

 

-

 

The Garment District houses the second SHIELD's New York bases: the Wardrobe. It's a cramped studio with an elaborate backstory and fabricated paper trail. The pride of the communications agents who created it, though some of the higher management was annoyed that they had done such a good job that the Wardrobe served as a commissioned studio by agencies unrelated to SHIELD.

So when a girl opens up the buzzed door and doesn't seem to recognize Natasha, she doesn't take it personally. The girl seems to be in her mid-twenties, with inexpertly bleached hair cut into a pixie cut, multiple piercings, and a black t-shirt, black jean vest, black jeans, and black Converses. Also, under-caffeinated for this hour of the morning. "Do you have an appointment, or are you yesterday's no-show here to see Deb? She's out for lunch, but should be back in the next hour."

"I have a standing reservation," Natasha says, pulling out her badge. "Natasha Romanoff. Level Eight."

The slouch in the agent's posture goes away. "What can I do for you, agent?"

"I need you to make me a knock-out ballgown in the next twelve hours."

Her face splits into a wide grin. “Let me get my sketchbook.”

 

-

 

Natasha catches up with Matt a block before the hotel.

He turns to her as she approaches. He’s wearing a traditional black tuxedo with a ruffled white dress shirt and black bow tie. It fits better than the day-to-day suits she’s seen him in, and he looks damn good in it. “Natasha.”

"What gives me away?"

He reaches up a hand, and tentatively brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. "Not many women use jasmine shampoo."

His fingers trail down the side of her face, and when his hand falls, she wraps a hand around his elbow. "Remember, my name is Natalie Rushman," she tells him, as she takes a step forward, tugging him to follow. "I work Legal for Stark Industries. We met in the courthouse. We've been dating for two months. You invited me as your plus one–"

Matt stops. "No," he says. "You're not my plus one."

"If you want to set foot into that hotel, then yes, I am."

"I'm not getting you involved."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm flattered, but I'm already involved. There are two ways this could go, Matthew, sweetie. Either you accept that I am going on your arm, so I can keep an eye on you, or I signal to the white van down the block, they drive up and they abduct you, while I continue on to the party to do a cursory sweep of the party attendees.” When he doesn’t reply, she leads him down the block and continues, “As I was saying, when you invited me as your plus one, it was one of the most romantic moments of my life. Low lighting, fancy dinner, the works.”

They walk up the steps, and arrive in the lobby of the Grand Hotel.

Natasha has never been here before, but she’s been to plenty of hotels like it. The marble is a sandy color, the air of the high-ceiling dotted by large floral arrangements. Guests mill around in black suits and black dresses. Waiters in white suits weave through them, carrying flutes of champagne.

Natasha watches as one of them makes their way towards her and Matt. “Champagne?” she asks.

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t like to drink.”

“Not even a glass?” she asks. She’s thought of it, idly, the past few days, wondering about all the small things that would impact Matt differently than other people.

“Sometimes. Not tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I drink,” Natasha says, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing water.

“Not at all,” he murmurs.

Natasha takes a sip. And smiles. This is the good stuff. Matt doesn’t seem completely at ease, and so Natasha takes the lead, hand around his elbow as she moves them through the crowd. There’s at least two SHIELD agents here that she can recognize, which helps with her list of contingency plans should something go awry.

All of a sudden, Matt goes tense.

"Mr. Murdock," comes the deep voice of Wilson Fisk, "It's good to see you again."

Matt turns them around, plastering a smile on his face. "I wish I could say the same, Mr. Fisk."

Fisk lets out a low chuckle. He makes an impression, Natasha will admit. Towering height, broad shoulders, finely tailored clothing. Despite the cut doing its best to obscure his physique, Natasha can see the muscle tone underneath the suit. 

“And who is this?” Fisk asks, looking Natasha up and down. It’s an assessment, not a leer; the appreciative gleam in his eye has far more to do with her passing his assessment the way he passed hers.

Natasha smiles at him. “Natalie Rushman.”

“You have a quite lovely girlfriend, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt goes tense.

Fisk smiles without smiling, and his gaze shifts to over Matt’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, an old acquaintance is beckoning. But I’m glad you two could attend. Please, enjoy yourselves.” He walks off.

Matt makes to follow.

Natasha’s grip tightens on his elbow. “Don’t.”

“I can’t–”

"Matt," Natasha says, warningly. Lower, she adds, "There's nothing you can do here. You want to fight him, the best you can do right now is to walk away – show him that you are not affected by him." 

"I am," he admits.

"Pretend," Natasha says. Despite their first meeting involving him nearly drowning, this is the most vulnerable she’s seen him. After a beat, she says, "My dress looks great, for the record."

Matt turns back to her. "Does it?"

She nods. The agent had done a wonderful job on the dress – it’s a full-length gown, but the back is completely open. It fits like a second skin, and more than fulfills her request for a complete knock-out. "There are plenty of men who are looking at me, and would offer me a dance in a heartbeat if I were not on your arm. So if you want me to stay on your arm, you should probably offer me a dance."

"Would you care to dance?"

“Hmm…” she says, consideringly, which gets a half-smile from Matt. "I think that would be quite nice," she finally allows. She takes his elbow and leads him towards the dance floor.

A string quartet is playing a Haydn opus. It’s a good piece for a waltz, and she is familiar with quite a few, but the tone for tonight seems to be swaying. She reaches her arms up, forearms resting on his shoulders, fingers lacing in the air behind his neck.

His hands come down and rest on the small of her back.

She inhales sharply. It’s not the first time they’ve touched – there’s been small instances of her hand on his, his hand on her elbow. Those had been fleeting, function. This is neither. His hands are rough – it's something she's noticed, but noticing them is not the same as having them linger on her skin.

"Backless?" he says.

She nods. "Black bodice, black body, lace for the sleeves. No back."

“Silk,” he adds.

“How did you guess?”

“No guess. There’s a distinctive sound of silk against skin. I like it," he tells her, as he skims his fingers up and down her spine.

She has to suppress a shiver, but it's pleasant.

Natasha leans her head down onto his shoulder, and they continue to sway for a few beats. "This is nice," she admits.

"Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't your ideal date."

Natasha's ideal date is uncomfortably similar to what they've been doing the past few nights. She deflects with a, "Nor yours, I imagine."

He pulls her in closer. His palm pressed flat against her back, his other hand settled on her hip. "I'm being won over," he tells her.

She smiles into his shoulder. "Good," she tells him. 

There's danger lurking in every corner of Natasha's world. Any moment could turn into a disaster. But Fury's here, she knows, as well as a few undercover SHIELD agents. But above that, Matt is here. He would sense danger just as quickly as she would, if not quicker, and he can be the one to monitor their surroundings. Slowly, Natasha lets herself relax. There's a lot on her mind at any given time, but the assessment of all those factors quiets down, softer than the sound of her breathing synchronizing with his.

"You really are enjoying this," Matt says, softly, as the song fades.

"I am," Natasha says. She’s seduced more marks than she could name off the top of her head, she has been in this position with multiple men. But she’s never at ease, she’s never been comfortable like this. It's the kind of comfort she can have with Clint after a mission, decompressing in one of their safe houses. Just her, no pretenses. She turns her head up towards Matt's, and presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw. There is no reason for her to continue, except that she wants to. "And I should let you know, that as nice as this dress looks, I look far better without it."

"It's a pity I can't see it."

She leans back into his hands. "I was under the impression your other senses made up for not seeing."

His grip tightens. “Not in any way that would be suitable for the public. Unless you are into exhibitionism."

"I have nothing to be ashamed of," Natasha says. Then she lowers her voice. "Your place or mine?"

"I would love to see your apartment."

She huffs. She pulls back, and curves her hand around his elbow as she leads him out of the hotel. 

It's cool outside, especially against the sensitive skin of her back. "Forecast said it was going to rain," Natasha says, looking up at the overcast night sky.

Matt shakes his head. "It won't," he tells her.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Lawyer by day, meteorologist by night."

He lets out a small chuckle. "I can smell it, the world changes when it's about to rain. And it's not, not tonight."

"I suppose that's a good thing," Natasha says. "I rather do like this dress, it would be a shame to get it wet."

"And it's not a shame for it to end up on a floor?"

"I always make sure to drape my dresses on some piece of furniture. It really is a quite nice dress, it could manage to make even an old desk look sexy."

"I'm looking forward to it."

She hails a cab, and rattles off the address of her nearby apartment. Then texts Clint with a brief ' _out_ ' before following it up with a ' _please._ '

And then Matt’s hand is on her cheek and he’s pulling her in for a kiss. His lips against hers are as rough as her fingers had been against her skin.

How Natasha prefers it, really. She tilts her head, slides her hand around his neck, drawing him deeper in. It’s gratifying, the way he presses against her, the low noises in his throat, how attracted he is to her without ever having seen her.

His hands fist in her hair. And then he’s pulling back, pressing kisses up her jaw. “What color is your hair?” he asks, like it’s the most important question in the world.

“Red.”

“What shade?”

It’s nothing she’s ever thought about before. She settles on, “Think of a sunset.”

He sighs against her cheek. “I wish I could see you.”

She turns to face him. “Looks can be deceiving. You’ve already seen me.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells her, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone, and then he’s kissing her again.

Natasha loses track of time until the car pulls to a stop. She hands over more than enough money to cover the fare, and then she’s pulling Matt out of the car. They make out during the elevator ride to the fourth floor.

She leads him halfway down the apartment, then turns on her heel and presses up against him. “Guess which is mine,” she says.

His arm wraps around her waist. “Third door down from us, on the right,” he tells her. He walks her back until she’s pressed against the door.

She kisses him again. One hand goes around his neck, the other opening the door behind her. She starts counting down the steps to her bedroom.

They get two steps in before his hand clenches on her hip, his entire body going tense.

Natasha sighs, and rests her forehead on his shoulder. "You didn't get my texts?"

"Got 'em just now," Clint replies, from behind them. "Sorry."

She turns around to look at him, and he's looking at her, confused. 'Mark?' he signs.

She shakes her head.

He looks surprised. ‘Really?’

She nods.

He looks even more surprised at that, but shrugs it off. "I'll get out of your hair. Stark's got some room for me at Stark Tower.”

"I'm just kicking you out for the night,"

"I know, but I've probably overstayed my welcome."

Natasha really doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. “We’ll get lunch tomorrow,” she tells him.

He gets the message and nods. As he passes, he claps down on Matt's back. "She leaves bruises," Clint tells him.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Have fun," Clint says, giving Natasha a thumbs up, before pulling the door closed after him.

"Ex-boyfriend?" Matt asks.

“Work husband and best friend.” Who has no place in her sex life right now, and so she puts him out of mind. She pulls Matt in closer, unties his bowtie, starts unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt. He reaches up, cupping her face in his hands, and pulls her into a kiss.

She pushes his shirt off with one hand, while the palm of her other hand smooths over his scars, over the stitches she gave him.

His gasps against her mouth. It’s an attractive sound.

Natasha kisses him harder, and pulls him the remaining steps towards her bedroom.

 

-

 

True to his word, Matt wakes up at some early morning hour.

Natasha does not change her breathing pattern as she wakes up next to him.

He moves towards where she had tossed his pants and boxers last night, his memory not failing him. He dresses quickly and efficiently, and then hesitates at the door to her bedroom.

She continues feigning sleep. For all she’s willing to pursue continue with this arrangement, she’s not in the mood for any sort of conversation, much less any relationship-defining discussion.

After another moment, Matt leaves.

Natasha shifts, shuffling over onto her front. She allows herself to doze, idly planning for the rest of the day. Shower. Change the sheets. See Matt. Lunch with Clint. Prepare to return to SHIELD. There’s some possibility of Natasha drawing suspicion to Matt – he’s blind, and while that would have previously disqualified him from being Daredevil, aliens having recently invaded the world expanded the realm of what is possible. She’ll see what damage control she needs to do.

She sighs, and pushes it off to the side, and drifts back to sleep.

 

-

 

It doesn’t take long to figure out where Matt spends his Sunday mornings. The cathedral he frequents is old and gorgeous, all masterful stonework and stained glass.

Natasha does not feel right going in – not on Sunday, not in her jeans and leather jacket, not in a place where she truly does not belong – so she waits on the bench on the sidewalk. The service ends, and Natasha watches people trickle out without really watching, and waits. And waits.

Matt is the last person to leave.

"How did you know?"

"You have your way of reading people, and I have mine."

"Were you still asleep when I left?"

She shakes her head. "The movement woke me up," she tells him.

He nods.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, and offers her arm.

Matt doesn't take it, and starts off without her.

Natasha lowers her arm, and follows him a pace back. "From what I can tell, the service ended half an hour ago. Did you take so long in Confession discussing the sex you had out of wedlock, or the murder you want to commit?"

"Confession is a sacred bond–"

"From what I can infer about your previous relationships, out of marriage sex isn't a sin that weighs largely on your conscious. Murder, though...."

Matt turns to her. "Why does it bother you so much that I want to kill Kingpin?"

"For one, he is now an asset of SHIELD, which means that he covered by my job. I’m only off-duty for twenty-three more hours. Most importantly, though, you don't think killing him is the right thing to do, but you're determined to do it anyway, and I don't understand that."

"He needs to pay for what he's done."

"He did nine years, which is far more than most men like him get. And in that time, his crime network has crumbled. A few men are still loyal to him, in name, maybe, but he's not the man he once was. And besides, he's under contract with SHIELD, and there are limitations to what SHIELD will protect him from. They won’t protect him from murder. He kills anyone, they'll take him back in themselves."

"That doesn't change the number of men he's already killed."

"No, nothing can change how many you've killed. But what you try and do afterwards should."

Matt's brow furrows. "You're nothing like him, Natasha."

"No," Natasha says, with a mirthless smile. "I've killed far many more people, and done far worse things. He's small fry, really. Just a big fish in a small pond–”

“He killed my father.”

“And I’m sorry. But your–”

“Don’t,” he says, voice low in warning.

Natasha refrains.

“What would you do if you were ordered to kill him?” he asks her.

“Assassination makes up only a small part of my job. My primary role tends to be protection more than anything else.”

“Killing him will protect others.”

“I thought you picked up where the law left off.”

“Killing him is the right thing to do.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the idea of letting Fisk walk free must eat you up alive. It sits heavy in your stomach, gnaws your insides. And that’s what the right thing feels like. It’s hard, and it’s selfless, but it’s right.”

Matt stops and turns to her. A long minute passes, and Natasha thinks she may have gotten through to him, when he tells her, “You’re wrong.”

“Matt–”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

Natasha watches him go.

 

-

 

Natasha gets back to her apartment to see Clint is collecting his few things.

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. And the urge to provide him a third cognitive recalibration.

"Don't worry, I won't be here much longer. Tony's giving me a floor of Stark Tower. And he provides laundry service."

"You're not leaving me for laundry," Natasha says.

"I'm leaving you so you can have space to have your own life."

"I don't have time for a life. I took a week off for a fling, but he's pissed that SHIELD’s protecting Kingpin, so it looks like I won't need to take more time for a life."

"He dumped you?" Clint asks. "What a jackass."

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Second guy to do so this past week.”

Clint turns on his heel. “You were the one to walk away.”

“After asking you if you wanted to come with me. Repeatedly. And trying to talk to you. Repeatedly. But you spent all your time moping–"

"SHIELD has me undergoing daily evaluations, under constant surveillance–"

"After you were torn out of yourself and forced to do acts you would never want to do. I know how that goes," Natasha says, icily. "And if you had said any of that, had said that you wanted to mope and feel like shit, or mope and not talk about it, I would have respected that. But for you to mope and mope and mope and pretend that you weren't, shutting off any attempt to talk about it? I’m not a mindreader, Barton."

Clint glares at her. "Then let me help you out,” he says, and flips her off.

"Go fuck yourself," Natasha tells him.

He shoulders past her as he leaves, and slams the door after him.

Quiet reigns for a few long moments.

‘ _I hate men_ ,’ Natasha texts Hill.

‘ _This is why I date women_ ,’ Hill replies back.

Natasha huffs a laugh, and shakes her head. With nothing else to do, she calls. "When did multiple women enter your life?”   
“Morse looks surprisingly good as a brunette.” After a brief pause, Hill says, “Pretend–”

“I didn’t hear you say that, or that I know you ever thought it. Got it.”

“What’d you call for?” Hill asks, voice briskly professional.

“I may not be needing the remaining twenty-some hours of time-off. When should I come back in?”

"You free in an hour? We need all the help we can get."

“Help with what, exactly?”

“Well it’s been just over a week since aliens rained down from the sky…”

“I’m doing better recovery work with Potts at Stark Industries.”

“You want to bury yourself in legal work? Because we’ve got legal work.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

 

-

 

Half an hour later, Hill raises an eyebrow at her. “I was half-wondering if you were being sarcastic.”

“I’ve developed a passion for legal paperwork this past week.”

“And we have plenty of it. I’ll give you the tour of the Legal department.”

The Legal department is confined to the third floor, and makes use of every square inch. Makeshift cubicles divide the area into a maze, and the numerous uncovered wires and extension cables keep in the spirit of being a fire hazard. The tour ends with Natasha being settled at a tiny folding card table with two different-sized monitors for a years-old CPU and a well-worn sticky note with passwords for a variety of shared documents. 

Natasha doesn’t waste her time in settling into the accounts and pulling up the files marked as most urgent.

It takes her a minute to realize Hill hasn’t left, and is instead leaning against the wall. “You want to talk about it?” Hill asks.

“Talk about what?”

“Going on a limb, but I’m guessing you had a falling out with Barton?”

“He’s a jackass.”

“He failed his eval. His response was within the appropriate range. In the end, we passed him. We need to finalize his re-entry, but he’ll be back in the field by Tuesday.”

Arguments between them always blow over. They always do. He’ll apologize, she’ll apologize, they’ll watch and mock an unrealistic action flick together. It doesn’t make the time before the reconciliation any less tiresome. “He’s still a jackass.”

“Who in SHIELD isn’t?” Hill asks, pushing herself off the desk.

Before Hill has gone too far, Natasha says, “You know I’ve been patrolling with Daredevil this week.”

Hill stills, and steps back to the cubicle. “We do.”   
“Do you know who he is?”

“No.”

Natasha turns to look at her.

“He was with you. And we don’t spy on our own.”

“But come tomorrow, you want me to bring him in. He doesn’t want his identity known.”

“Which is understandable. But it’s a security concern. We need to do an Index evaluation on him. Find out what he can do, and how he does it. Should he get into any trouble with the law, we can protect him. And if he’s working with us, we can control the environment, contain any fight that needs to be contained, which will lessen the likelihood of copycats.”

“What if he doesn’t want to join SHIELD?”

“We don’t force agents to join. He can go back to being a cab driver or history professor or chimney sweep or whatever he is.”

“Chimney sweep?”   
“We found Barton at a carnival.”

“Fair. But he’d still be on the Index.”

“More like the off-Index.”

Natasha sighs. She doesn’t want to think about this. She wants to do her job, and she wants to help in a way where she doesn’t have to justify her actions. Laws that put in protections for civilians in the case of alien invasions, she won’t lose sleep over this.

“You okay?” Hill asks, sounding as concerned as Natasha’s ever heard her.

“I’ve had enough talking about men,” Natasha says. “You want to get cocktails with me and Pepper later tonight?”

“It’s Sunday night.”

“And?” Natasha asks, blithely. “No talk of men, no talk of work, and copious amounts of alcohol.”

Hill huffs. “We’ll see.”

 

-

 

Clint is waiting in her apartment, perched on the back of her couch, when she finally stumbles in.

She stills, and pulls herself up straight.

“I’m a jackass,” he says.

She nods. “You’re a jackass.”

“You’re also a jackass.”

“I’m also a jackass.”

“Beer?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. I went out drinking with Pepper and Hill.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because Hill thinks Pepper is prettier than you.”

Clint laughs. “You heading back out?”

She shakes her head again.

He slides down to sit on the couch seat, and grabs a beer. “You may have been dumped twice, but your reconciliation record is looking pretty good.”

“We have differing ideologies.”

Clint winces, and holds out the beer.

Natasha takes it, but doesn’t open it. “I can see the good in the arrangement. But for him, Kingpin’s out, and that’s unacceptable.”

“He needs to watch more Law and Order.”

She snorts.

“You know, if he has time between his day job and being a vigilante.”

“Hill thinks he’s a chimney sweeper.”

“My bet is history teacher.”

“Already taken.”

“Damn. Mechanic, then.”

“Close.”

“What, really?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

Which confirms her suspicion that he’s pieced it together. He won’t say anything, though. He had his opportunity to, when he had been told his status as a SHIELD agent was being revoked. He could have bartered the information. He didn’t.

Natasha opens the beer. “Your pick for movie.”

 

-

 

Natasha reports to the Green Room at eight o’clock on the dot. There are three other specialists waiting for her. Agent Jefferson, Agent Milbury, Agent Cajka, all security specialists. Or training to be – they don’t give their years experience, and they look all the same early-twenties age, which means one of them is a cadet. Natasha never went through the SHIELD Academy, but she’s heard the stories of what all training entailed.

Hill is the one to debrief the mission, amazingly steady after the number of Coronas she had last night. It’s not until after she’s dismissed them, and the younger agents have left the room, that she raises her fingers to pinch at the bridge of her nose. “Never again,” is all she says to Natasha.

Natasha’s smirk lasts the ride to the Justice Center, and to when she steps to take her position. Milbury goes in to lead Fisk out to their waiting entourage to the side exit. There are two SHIELD SUVs, Jefferson and Cajka each waiting at the wheel.

Exactly ten minutes later, the two of them walk out.

Fisk is dressed in a pristine white suit, a neutral expression on his face. Well put-together, simple and elegant; an air of satisfaction about him, without being smug.

"Hello, Mr. Fisk," Natasha says. She moves to stand in front of him, hands clasped before her. "My name is Natasha Romanoff. I'm an agent of SHIELD. I'm here to help you get settled in at your apartment."

"Natasha Romanoff," Fisk repeats. "Funny thing, I thought your name was Natalie Rushman."

Behind Fisk’s back, Milbury raises an eyebrow, but then hurries to the first SUV with Cajka at the wheel.

"I was undercover," Natasha says.

"To what purpose?"

"Reconnaissance."

"You left rather early, if I remember correctly. Able to do enough reconnaissance?"

"I saw no immediate danger, and there were plenty other SHIELD agents in case danger did arise. I am glad it didn't. It would have been a shame had anything disrupted the party."

Fisk smiles. "I can't manage to tell if you're lying or not."

She mirrors his smile. "You are not the first. Now, would you like me to show you to your apartment?"

“It will be a few minutes more for my limo to get here.”

“We have excellent security in our SUVs. If you would please follow me…”

“I have spent plenty of time in SUVs, and I anticipate I will spend plenty more time in them with my upcoming arrangement with SHIELD. For now, I would like to travel in style.”

Natasha puts her hand to her ear, activating her comm. “Change of plans. Fisk has a limo on its way. Milbury, you’ll be taking over for the limo driver.”

“I assure you, Maurice is an old friend of mine, there is no security concern.”

“I need a background check, not assurances,” Natasha tells him, while Milbury exits the SUV. “You want your limo ride, Milbury’s going to be driving.”

“What happens to Maurice?”

“He can ride with Jefferson or Cajka, they’ll drop him off at the rental company. Milbury will drop off the limo afterwards.”

“Maurice loves his limo. It’s going to be a hard sell.”

“Milbury is up for it.”

Milbury blinks, but otherwise doesn’t show any nerves. The hard sell takes longer than Natasha would have liked, but otherwise, it’s a smooth transition.

"If you don’t mind me asking, Agent Romanoff,” Fisk starts, giving her an opportunity to turn him down. When she doesn’t, he continues, “Were you assigned this mission, or did you volunteer for it?"

"Assigned. With Daredevil still alive and recently engaging back in activity, there is a danger that you may have another attempt on your life. SHIELD wanted to make sure that there was no chance of that happening."

"You're one of SHIELD's best."

"SHIELD is made of the best."

Fisk just nods, but he still keeps his gaze on her, quietly assessing her.

They get to his apartment. It's a penthouse suite, and really rather impressive. Natasha looks around, though, and just sees the areas that are probably bugged, the areas where one could store back-up weaponry, the vantage points of each position in the room.

"Do you like it?" Natasha asks.

"Not as good as what I had before I went to Rikers," he replies, still looking around. "I'm going to need to get an interior decorator on payroll to brighten the place up a bit. But it will work for now."

"I am glad to hear it."

"No you're not," Fisk replies. He turns to her. "You staying with me for the rest of the day, or should I offer you a drink?"

"I'm not allowed to drink on the job. Should you be planning to leave the apartment, I will need to accompany you, but should you stay at home, there are SHIELD agents in place to guarantee your safety."

"Think I can find an interior decorator online?"

"Nearly all services are available online," Natasha says, dryly. "You'd be amazed at how much things have changed since you went to jail."

For the first time, he looks smug. "I'm more amazed at how little things have changed."

 

-

 

Natasha had told the communication agents to call her the minute Fisk received any suspect calls, or if surveillance showed any visitors, or if the tracker in his phone indicated he was leaving his apartment.

It takes until eleven at night for her to get the call.

“He’s leaving his apartment,” the agent on the other end says.

Natasha sighs. “Route his movement into my GPS, get the other agents on this as well.”

“Want company?” Clint asks, as she moves into her room to get her jumpsuit.

She’s perfected the change down to an art, and a minute later she’s stepping back into the living room. “I’ll call if I need you.”

“Have fun,” he says, and it sounds more genuine than it has the past few times.

Her good mood evaporates as she finally gets the address for where Fisk has stopped.

It’s a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen.

The warehouse that Fisk’s lieutenant had stationed himself at. Fisk’s lieutenant that Natasha and Matt took down. Fisk’s lieutenant that is in jail. Fisk could be meeting another one of his associates.

Natasha doubts it.

The warehouse is wide and spacious, longer than it is wide, with a high ceiling and nonexistent security. The table that and chair that were upturned during the other night’s fight have been righted. Fisk’s white suit jacket and black dress shirt drape over the back of the chair.  
 Fisk himself stands dressed down to an athletic shirt and dress pants, patiently waiting.

“Mr. Fisk.”

“Agent Romanoff,” he replies, not turning to her. “I wasn’t anticipating SHIELD to react so quickly.”

“You are a high-priority security concern,” Natasha says. “I believe you were told such during your briefing. And I also believe that you were told that you needed to be accompanied by a SHIELD agent whenever you left your apartment while we are still working out your boundaries.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Fisk says, and he sounds like he means it. “But I figured before I took advantage of my clean slate, it might do some good to take care of unfinished business.” He raises his voice as he continues, "Don't you think so, Murdock?"

Natasha sighs.

There's a _thump_ as Matt jumps down from his position in the rafters to the ground.

Natasha moves between him and Fisk.

"Get out of the way, Romanoff," Matt says, voice low.

Natasha sizes him up. "Not gonna happen, Daredevil." 

She knows she’s the stronger of them, that he won’t be able to take her down. There are only two questions. The first is how much of a fight he’ll put up. The second is if it will be easier for Natasha to take him down immediately, or to go easier on him during a longer fight. 

Natasha has gone from seducing a mark to fighting them two hours later. Matt wasn’t a mark, though. He wasn’t an opponent. Natasha doesn’t want to fight him.

But it’s what she needs to do. It’s the right thing to do. Save Kingpin for the intel he can give SHIELD. But, more importantly, save Matt from starting down a path of broken vows and endless self-justification. Natasha nearly lost herself down that path. She doesn’t want Matt to do the same.

Daredevil takes a few steps forward. “I don’t want to do this,” he tells her, voice going quiet.

“Then turn around, and walk away. You still have a chance.”

He throws the first punch.

Reflex overrides the surprise, and Natasha raises an arm to block. “I don’t want to fight you,” she tells him, knocking his arm away.

“Then get out of my way.”

“As curious as I am regarding your relationship,” Fisk says, “Murdock is mine. He took away nine years of my life, nearly took away my legs–”

“You took away my father,” Matt shouts. He lunges towards Fisk, and Natasha tackles him.

She pins him down to the ground, long enough to say, “Matt, don’t let him take away anything else.”

He throws her off, rougher and stronger than she anticipated. Natasha rolls with the throw and recalculates her plan of attack, while he flips up onto his feet and launches himself at Fisk.

Before she can intercede, Fisk punches him. It’s a heavy hit, and Matt flies back with the force of it. Natasha can hear the pained hitch to his breathing from yards away.

“Come on, Murdock,” Fisk says. He hasn’t budged an inch. “We’ve both been waiting for this rematch too long for it end so quickly.”

Natasha draws herself up to her full height and puts steel into her tone as she says, “Fisk, there is record of you saying that you should be thanking Daredevil for incarcerating you, as he gave you such ample opportunity to tap an untapped market. You spent nine years in prison, but you made good connections, and you could rise higher than you ever could have ten years ago. Let it go.”

Fisk spends a long minute considering her. Finally, he nods.

Natasha wants to sigh in relief, but that’s only half the problem solved. “Matt, stay down.”

But before Natasha can make a very compelling argument and hope that he will actually listen, the doors to the warehouse fly open. They get two steps in before their guns are up and trained on Matt.

Immediately, Matt dives for the table, flipping it so it acts as a shield as the first bullets are fired.

“Stand down,” Natasha snaps.

They stop firing, but neither lower their weapon.

“The mission is to bring Daredevil in–” Jefferson starts.

“ _My_ mission is to bring Daredevil in. Your mission is to keep Fisk safe. Now get him out of here.”

Fisk takes a few steps back, reassessing gaze flicking between Natasha and Matt, before he turns on his heel and walks to Jefferson and Cajek.

Matt darts out from behind the table and sprints to the door.

Natasha cuts him off as he approaches. She shoves him, face-first, the remaining ten feet into the corner. He pushes back, and when she concedes two steps, he breaks to the side. He only gets a few steps away, but he’s able to turn to face Natasha. His shoulder goes to her sternum, and she grunts as he shoves her back five steps. She regains her balance, turns on her heel, and throws herself at him.

They fall to the ground, Matt twisting them so they land on their sides – her on her left, him on his right. He hisses in pain. His arms clench around her, briefly, and then he’s pulling away from her to clutch at his side. At his likely torn stitches.

Natasha pushes herself up to her knees, and stares down at Matt. Watches as he slowly pushes himself up to his hand on knees, tries to push himself up straight.

“Stay down,” Natasha says.

He wavers, and falls against her. “Let me go after him,” he says.

Natasha grips his shoulders. “This is not a fight you can win, Matt, and not a fight you’re supposed to win. Accept what has happened, and move on.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just won’t.”

He pulls back from her, and rises to his feet.

Regret stalls Natasha for a moment. It’s not enough time for a head-start, not in the shape he’s in, and Natasha is easily able to intercept him. “One last warning,” she says. She’s drawn this out far enough.

He keeps moving towards 

She hits him, hard, and he collapses.

Her heart is pounding and adrenaline is coursing through her veins. She’s still in fight mode, and only years of honing herself and her instincts keep her from attacking when Milbury bursts into the warehouse. 

“Sorry, traffic–”

“Fisk is being relocated. Call Jefferson for their current location.”

Milbury looks down at Matt. “What about…?”

“I’ll meet with you all when I’ve finished containing the site.”

Milbury nods, and hurries off.

Natasha turns to Matt. Still out. She moves to one of the walls, grabs a crate, and drags it back over to Matt. And then she sits and waits.

 

-

 

Matt regains consciousness slowly.

“This isn’t a SHIELD facility,” he says.

“This isn’t a SHIELD facility.”

“You were ordered to bring me in.”

“Thankfully there is precedent and leeway with ignoring stupid decisions.”

“Does SHIELD know who I am?”

“I don’t know. They’re the best of the best, they’ll piece it together sooner or later.”

“What then?”

Natasha wants to watch out after him. Wants to go back, cover her tracks so that he isn’t found. Wants to throw around her clout and have Hill call off all interest in him. But at the same time, she doesn’t want to watch out for him. She doesn’t want to feel like she _has_ to watch out for him. “They’ll try to recruit you. You’ll turn them down. SHIELD won’t be happy, but we are the good guys, we’re not going to turn your life upside down for turning down an offer.”

“You don’t want to have to watch out for me.”

“No.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Both of us a bit bruised when we wake up tomorrow.”

He huffs a laugh. He winces as he pushes himself up to sitting, then standing. “You know, after all of this,” he says, “I never even got your number.”

Natasha laughs. She makes her way over to him. Maybe for the last time, maybe not. Her lips go to her cheek, then up to where his mask covers his ear. “You have to beat me in a fight if you want my number.”

 

-

 

On her way back to her apartment, when she knows he’ll still be en route as well, she calls him.

“I don’t want to fight,” she says, simply, before hanging up.

 

-

 

“You’re heading to Vancouver,” Blake tells her the next morning. “You and Barton are taking lead on a mission. Calderon and a team of Level Five agents ready for you. Wheels up in twenty. Any questions?”

Natasha shakes her head.

Blake nods, his own form of dismissal.

Barton falls in step with her as they make their way up to the helicopter pad.

“Blake give any detail on the mission, or was he as laconic as always?”

“You weren’t gone nearly long enough for him to change that much.”

He shoots her a grin.

They’re waiting for the helicopter when Natasha’s phone goes off. She smiles when she sees the number. “Isn’t there some unspoken rule about not returning calls in under twelve hours?”

On the other line, Matt huffs. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Fine. Heading out for the rest of the week. Work.”

“I take it you’re not nearly as bruised as I am.”

“I don’t doubt it. Pity we can’t compare notes, though.”

To her side, Clint makes a face.

She elbows him.

He shoulders her, but then tilts his head.

In the distance, she sees their helicopter making its way over.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go, my ride’s on its way.”

“When you get back in town… you’ll know where to find me.”

“Of course. We have similar tastes in rooftops.”

He laughs, and she’s smiling as she hangs up.


End file.
